The Shadow: THE EVIL FROM THE HILLS
by DARK KNIGHT of the MOON
Summary: When a series of weird, unexplainable murders from a small backwoods town in the state of North Carolina gains national attention, the Shadow sends his right hand, Harry Vincent, to solve the mystery.
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: This story has many direct influences, one being an actual radio episode of the Shadow called **_**The Hounds In The Hills**_**. Other inspirations include vampires, witches and various elements of horror. The Shadow pulp, **_**The Voodoo Master**_**, plus modern Shadow comic books drawn by Michael Kaluta were also great influences, as well as the 1940 movie serial, **_**The Shadow**_**, starring Victor Jory (the greatest portrayal of the Shadow ever done), and the old silent film **_**Nosferatu**_**. This work stands as really more of a Harry Vincent story than a direct Shadow story, but the Shadow of course still plays the most important role.**

Chapter 1 – The Next Mission

**NEW YORK CITY - 1942**

On a clear but cold October night in the heart of the city, a group of mobsters sat in the main storage facility of a nearly vacant warehouse hideout. They were stooped over a long table, involved in some grueling card game. The place was damp, with a putrid smell that would warn anyone near to stay away. Each thug at the table was more contemptible than the next.

"Say Mac," one of them spoke, "when the Boss gets back with our dough, are we gonna go out?"

"For a night on the town? Yeah, sounds good," another goon replied, leaning back in his chair, trying noticeably too hard to keep his poker face.

"Yeah, that's if he gets back," a third man uttered. "You know the Shadow is on the Boss's trail."

"Oh there he goes again, talking about that Shadow character," an additional thug spoke.

The man who had mentioned the Shadow was Cliff Marsland, who in reality was one of his agents. Marsland was a tough guy, with a mysterious past. He roamed the underworld with the reputation of a stone cold killer, and was easily placed into any gang or racket that the Shadow selected.

"Jeez Cliff, why is it you're the only guy who ever worries about the Shadow?"

"I dunno fellas, just cautious I guess. I hear he ain't human," Marsland responded.

"Enough talk about that guy," a husky thug declared, standing up from the table and throwing his cards down. "I don't like it boys… I think Marsland is a double crosser."

"Naw, think about what you're sayin'," a goon said defending Cliff Marsland. "Cliff has been with us for a long time."

"No, I think you're right. He's always goin' off by himself at the strangest times and he rarely talks," another gangster muttered standing up from the table, drawing a revolver and quickly pointing it at Cliff Marsland's head.

"Now listen boys, this is ridiculous. Think about it. Me, in cahoots with the Shadow. I've been with you guys for far too long," Cliff responded.

"You're a double crosser and I'm gonna blow you're head off," the goon said, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Suddenly, as the goon was ready to fire, ominous laughter echoed all around the room, as if a specter was haunting the already intimidating joint. It seemed that these harsh gangsters were no longer alone.

"What the hell was that?" another thug questioned, nearly falling out of his chair.

"I know, it was the Shadow," the armed mobster joked sarcastically.

Abrupt laughter escaped the other gangster's mouths but was promptly interrupted by a sinister shape appearing on the far wall. It indeed was the silhouette of the Shadow. The gangsters quickly stood up to draw their pistols, then started hammering round after round at the wall where the mysterious silhouette stood.

Unarmed and growing nervous, Cliff Marsland turned and ran, hiding behind some large wooden boxes stacked against the wall on the other side of the warehouse. These particular boxes no doubt housed various illegal shipments.

The gangster's gunfire persisted, until the hideout's heavy, steel access door was raised. In walked the gang leader, Samuel Zorrin.

"What the hell is going on here?" the crime boss inquired with great hostility.

"Boss, it's the Shadow. He's here," one of the thugs answered nervously.

As the mobsters glanced slowly, over toward the wall, a dark figure materialized right in front of them… A black cloak covered the mysterious form, which bore a broad brimmed fedora, as black as night; and a blood red scarf-like mask, which covered the lower half of his face, like a sinister bandit.

"Well don't just stand there you idiots. Shoot 'em," Zorrin ordered.

Just as the gangster's aimed their firearms, the Shadow produced two identical .45 automatic pistols. The Shadow's automatics began blazing as soon as they had appeared, striking each of Zorrin's gangsters with a deadly blow. As each gangster was shot, they rapidly fell to the floor.

Suddenly, Samuel Zorrin drew a powerful .45 Magnum and commenced firing directly at the Shadow. The Shadow ran, with every shot from Zorrin's gun at his heels. With a quick jump and not a second glance back, the Shadow dove headfirst behind the wooden boxes where his agent, Cliff Marsland was hiding.

Unexpectedly, a distinct and terrifying voice seemed to come from nowhere.

"Crime Does Not Pay… the Shadow knows," declared the Shadow, throwing his voice from behind the crates.

What seemed like a few minutes passed as Zorrin waited for the mysterious Shadow to appear from behind the wooden crates. Becoming anxious, the crime boss charged toward his strange aggressor, but was promptly stopped in his tracks, as roaring gunfire briskly echoed throughout the warehouse. The despicable mobster had been gunned down from behind.

Using his ability to cloud men's minds, the Shadow had moved, miraculously unseen from his hiding place, to the other side of the warehouse. Gradually becoming visible, the dark figure wandered slowly toward Zorrin's cadaver, wielding his powerful automatics.

* * *

A few nights later, Harry Vincent was having a drink at the bar within his residence, _The Hotel Metrolite_. The bar was like any other sports bar, crowded and noisy, full of smoke and liquor. The bartender was making his rounds and asked Harry if he desired another drink. Harry declined, grabbing his overcoat from the barstool next to him.

As Harry left the bar, he sauntered past a couple of hotel patrons who had clearly had too much to drink. He entered into the massive lobby and went to the front desk, signing his name on the registry. It appeared that he was leaving for the night. This particular establishment was the classiest of joints, and for good measure, kept a notary on when their clients were in and out of the hotel.

As Harry walked out of the massive lobby to the well-lit street, the city was booming with activity. Car after car lined the avenue and the sidewalks were littered with people who were merely participating in the usual New York City nightlife. Immediately Harry noticed a bright yellow taxicab that appeared brand-new rolling up alongside the curb to collect him. Opening the cab's door, he greeted the driver and entered the cab.

"Hello Moe, how are you?"

"I'm fine Mr. Vincent," the driver, Moe Shrevnitz said as the taxi pulled away from the street.

* * *

Moments later, an impressive cab pulled up to a deserted, grimy brick building somewhere in downtown. As the cab door flew open, Harry Vincent exited casually. Moe Shrevnitz' cab suddenly sped away from the dark scene as Harry approached the building's entrance through a dark side alley.

Harry struck the iron door with a series of short, distinct knocks. Abruptly the door slid into the brick siding, revealing a large entrance with steps descending into a black pit. He stepped inside, following the steps until a dim light appeared through another door. Easily pushing it open, the decisive agent stepped into the Shadow's secret Sanctum.

With the Sanctum's main purpose being a communication headquarters, the Shadow frequently met his closest companions here, as well as communicated with them through visual means with use of a closed circuit television screen plastered on the wall.

As Harry entered the main room of the Shadow's lair, he saw the menacing figure seated at a desk, under a blue light and fully cloaked in black.

"Come in Vincent," the Shadow uttered with a terrible whisper.

"I got your message at the hotel. What is it Sir?" Harry inquired.

"I have a mission for you agent."

"Yes Sir," Harry replied obediently.

"Vincent, I have kept record of a certain radio broadcast that aired last night. Pay attention, this involves your next assignment."

From out of the desk, the Shadow pulled a small radio box, which he connected to a telephone wire protruding from the wall. "Listen," the Shadow ordered as he turned on the radio. A scratchy broadcast began streaming through the radio:

_In national news, police in a small town in North Carolina say that a series of unsolved murders has locals spooked. The small town of Torenceville has been a stranger to the horrors of crime that most of the country is used to. At present, the murders include four men brutally killed, two hospitalized, names not yet released to the public. No witnesses as of yet_…

The Shadow turned off the radio; Harry Vincent couldn't believe what he heard. "Vincent, one of my other agents from the city of Charlotte, North Carolina is already in Torenceville assessing the situation. His name is John Rowe. He is staying at a motel just inside Torenceville called _The Happy Inn_. He awaits your arrival. Use the universal agent's code to identify yourself to him. You will go there and see what you can find out about these murders. Report directly if you have any information."

"Understood Sir."

"Good, an airplane has been chartered under your name. It will leave from the Eastern Manhattan Airstrip tomorrow morning at nine o'clock. You are dismissed, for now. Moe will drive you wherever you need to go for the time being."

Immediately, Harry left the Sanctum through the heavy iron entrance and returned to the taxicab that was waiting outside.

* * *

The following evening, a dense fog permeated the air as a bright pair of lights shot through the dark sky. A small, single engine airplane was meandering down, releasing the landing gear as if preparing to land. As the plane continued to descend, the fog dissipated. Finally, the tiny aircraft struck the ground with great force, landing in a vacant airfield. It made a few brisk turns, attempting to slow down so it could come to a full stop. Once halted, the plane shut down.

After a few moments, two figures exited the plane and moved to the back, opening the vessel's storage compartments, removing some luggage.

"Well Mr. Vincent, is this where I leave you?" the man who had piloted the plane asked Harry Vincent, who was surprised at the heaviness of his luggage.

"Yes, this is fine. I have a friend meeting me here along that road," Harry informed, pointing to a poorly paved road on the other side of the small airfield. "He'll take me to a nearby motel."

"Sure is strange Sir, you wanting to vacation out here in the hills of North Carolina in the middle of October. It's mighty cold," the pilot declared.

"Yes well, I like the adventure."

"Ha, I'll bet. Would you like me to wait with you, until your ride arrives?"

"No, I'll be fine if you want to take off. It's a long flight back to New York," Harry uttered, a bit annoyed that the pilot was so persistent.

"Alright then goodbye Mr. Vincent. It has been a pleasure," the pilot said returning to the plane.

Moments later, the plane took off and soon disappeared into the night sky. From across the field came the bold glow of a car's headlights. Harry Vincent grabbed his heavy bags and raced across the field to a poor dirt road.

As Harry came to the dirt road, the black car stalled, and out stepped a short, stocky man in a black chauffeur's uniform.

"Hello Mr. Vincent, my name is Wallace Crump," pronounced the driver in a thick southern accent.

"Ah yes, you were sent by Mr. John Rowe I believe."

"That's correct Sir, he regrets not being here now. He told me to get you back to the motel."

"That's fine. Thank you very much," Harry offered, placing his bags in the back seat, and then entering as the driver began to start the car.

Suddenly the car roared into life, and backed up to turn around. With that, the vehicle easily accelerated forward en route to _The Happy Inn _motel.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 – The Happy Inn Motel**

The overcast night was calming to Harry Vincent as he toured the desolate countryside of Torenceville, North Carolina. Harry had traveled abroad before, but had never seen anything like this. It was dusk however and Harry couldn't really see much from the back seat of the black sedan that had picked him up. What he had seen of the locale seemed slow, the environment relaxing, at least compared to New York. Even the driver was friendlier than any New Yorker that Harry had encountered lately.

Torenceville possessed a quiet eeriness that made Harry uneasy. He wasn't used to the somewhat primitive lifestyle of small-town folks. Harry himself was from a small municipality in Michigan called Colon. He had gotten used to life in the big city and didn't miss the sluggish, lackluster existence whatsoever.

"We're almost there," Wallace the driver uttered from the driver's seat, stirring Harry from his thoughts.

"Great, thanks Wallace."

"You'll enjoy the place Sir. The people are so nice. Is this your first time to Torenceville?" Wallace spoke, trying to provoke conversation.

"Yes actually. Just vacationing," Harry replied dryly.

"Well, this used to be a mining town, then all the work dried up, so now everyone is pretty much into furniture. We average about two new factories a year here. It's good for the economy."

"That's nice," Harry replied, obviously uninterested.

Suddenly, the bulky black car came to a gloomy, barely visible side street. It quickly turned into the access and followed a long, dark road. Finally, the car came to a spacious parking lot, stalling in front of a brilliantly lit and surprisingly roomy motel. From out of the car came Harry Vincent, pulling his bags from the seat with great force.

"I'll get those Sir," Wallace Crump said, exiting the driver's seat in a hurry.

"Fine, have them sent to my room," Vincent uttered, handing the man some cash for his services.

Harry wasted no time. As he entered the motel lobby, he realized just what kind of place it was. The joint was very ritzy for a mere motel, with its silk curtains, elegant chandeliers and polished hardwood floors. The lobby gave way to a narrow hall, which housed an elevator and led to a bar. As Harry approached the front desk, an older woman of about forty-five took him off guard.

"Welcome to the Happy Inn, may I have your name?" the woman's petite voice sounded.

"My name is Harry Vincent."

"Ah yes the salesman from New York City. Wow, it's a pleasure. We rarely get your kind around here. We've got you in Room Fifteen. It's on the second floor at the end of the hall. Enjoy your stay."

"Thank you," Harry pronounced, promptly heading toward the bar.

As Harry entered the bar, he saw that it was quite a cramped space, but at present, the place wasn't very crowded. Lining the walls on the left and right were beautifully finished, albeit occupied, tables, large enough for only two, as well as a small but vacant billiard table in the middle of the room. And at the head of it all was the bar, with ten empty yet worn barstools, for thirsty patrons.

Harry quickly sauntered toward the bar, and sat in the middle of the place.

"What'll it be Sir?" the stocky bartender quickly responded.

"Huh, I'll have a gin martini please," Harry requested, as he noticed an old man approaching from the left.

Harry looked at the man, and was taken back by his appearance. The man looked about sixty years of age, with scraggly gray hair and a near toothless grin. His eyes were shifty and he seemed suspicious. As the man sat down next to Harry, the bartender brought Harry his drink.

"Will that be all Sir," the man behind the bar uttered.

"For now yes," Harry responded. "Can you tell me, do you know anything about a series of murders that occurred here recently?"

"Murders? No I can't say I do… I don't know Sir," the bartender uttered confusedly, turning away.

At Harry's words, the strange man spoke up.

"Hey sonny. What's this I hear? What are you about? Why do you come to a place like this and scare everybody with your talk of murder? This is a bad place Sonny Jim… a bad place. You should never have come here prying into stuff you don't know about. You'll be sorry."

"That's enough Billy-Jack. Don't mind him Sir, he just likes scaring folks," the bartender assured, looking at Harry Vincent.

With that the old man known as Billy-Jack, got up and left the bar. Harry continued drinking his martini. The bartender quickly went to work making another drink, then suddenly presented it to Harry.

"This is on the house friend. I'm sorry about that guy," the bartender said with a smile.

"Who was that?" Harry asked, almost on the verge of laughter from the old man's weird outburst.

"Just some local screwball. He lives here and he's always makin' trouble. You be sure to stay away from him and you'll be fine."

"I'll try. Thanks for the free drink," Harry offered.

With that, the bartender gave a nod and went about his business. Without warning a lanky, suave looking gentleman was suddenly sitting at the bar. Harry glanced over quickly, recognizing that on the stranger's left hand was a girasol ring, identical to the one on his own chubby finger.

With an abrupt saunter, Harry advanced closer to him. He hesitated, staring the man up and down. The man looked at him too, as if already knowing who he was.

"The sun is shining," Harry uttered, almost accidentally.

The stranger responded, quickly realizing that in front of him was another agent of The Shadow. "But the ice is slippery. You must be Harry Vincent."

"Yes, John Rowe I presume?"

"That's correct. I was noticing you from the other side of the bar. You looked like you might be from out of town so I thought I'd check you out."

"Good thing too, things are getting a little weird. Is this your first time here?" Harry questioned with a smile.

"Is it that obvious? I'm a city man myself. Small towns are very weird to me."

"Yeah me too," Harry informed, "I'm from New York City."

"Say Harry, what room are you staying in?"

"Room fifteen," Harry uttered as three rather large, suspicious looking men walked into the bar.

"It looks like we may have company. The old man must have alerted some flunkies. Maybe we should continue these pleasantries in your room," John Rowe suggested as the three large men approached from the entrance.

"Good idea," Harry agreed.

With that, Harry laid down some cash for his drink, and then the two men hurried out of the bar.

* * *

The next day slugged by as Harry rested in his motel room, going over the local paper. Looking for something suspicious, he glanced over the obituaries. Nothing unusual. An old man died of cancer, a young woman killed in a hit and run, nothing of some unexplained murders. That evening, John Rowe knocked on Harry's door, three taps and a rap, alerting him that it was time for dinner. Grabbing his long coat and exiting the room, the men exchanged slight nods and walked to the elevator and stepped aboard. The lift descended to the first floor of the place in less time than it would have taken to pummel down the rickety stairs.

After finishing a light meal of soup and toasted bread in the motel's quaint tavern, they chatted little, their thoughts elsewhere.

As they exited the bar, an annoying commotion echoed in their ears. Both men turned their heads to spot six men rushing through the front door into the lobby from the bitter cold. One of the six men walked to the reception desk where Billy-Jack gruffly greeted them, his eyes shifty, darting back and forth. Limping out from behind the desk, he grasped onto the man's luggage, leading him and the rest of them to the nearby elevator.

Harry and John Rowe watched attentively, careful to keep their suspicious eyes elsewhere. These men were definitely not average, garden-variety tenants. All decked out in long, dark overcoats and fedoras, each man's face seemed distinctly colorless. The leader of the group was the tallest with an eerie feel about him that caught Harry off guard as the men faintly locked eyes. Harry turned first as if just glancing around the conjoining rooms.

The leader of the six men looked weird. His face was shriveled with age, maybe fifty or so. The rest of the men looked considerably younger but their outward appearances baffled Harry and John Rowe. Bleak eyes, defeated postures, weak as if these newly arrived patrons lacked nourishment. It was almost as if these men were not human.

Harry and John Rowe casually tried to head back toward the bar, but overheard Billy-Jack speak as the newly arrived crowd began to board the elevator.

"Did you boys bring me a message from the master? I love those little notes she brings me. They are so nice," he sounded almost eager, his voice raising a notch above his routine growl.

As suddenly as Billy-Jack stepped aboard, the elevator's old-fashioned gate closed, followed by the massive elevator door. Harry motioned, without a word spoken, to John Rowe to follow the suspicious group. Quickly returning to the elevator, they waited patiently for the lift's return. Instead of taking the stairs, they feared they would beat the group to their rooms, the suite down the hall from them. Spying on these shady newcomers, Harry almost prayed that they finally had a lead. Could these men have anything to do with the local unsolved murders? Only time would tell.

* * *

Having returned to Harry's room on the second floor, John Rowe devised a way to eavesdrop on the room next-door. Room Sixteen at the end of the hall housed the peculiar men comfortably, rumored to be the most comfortable and expensive suite at the Happy Inn. Harry rushed to the door and opened it only slightly, in hopes that he and John Rowe might hear something from the next room. The walls to the motel were paper-thin. It was easy to hear conversations from other rooms, even if they were slightly muffled.

As Harry and John Rowe listened, they heard the familiar voice of Billy-Jack.

"So boys, what's the news?" the strange old man questioned.

"Well B.J.," another voice sounded. "We've got a meeting scheduled. Called by Delilah herself. It's important. Apparently our activities are not as secret as we would have liked."

"You mean somebody spilled the beans? Say, come to think of it, I remember some newcomer to the motel. He arrived just before you guys and he was askin' all sorts of questions. He mentioned somethin' about murder. He might be a cop. We'll have to keep our wits about us. When's the meetin'?"

"Well it's tomorrow night, at the cabin. Delilah wanted to speak to you personally."

"Tomorrow then. You boys have a good night. We'll leave here about noon tomorrow. I'm off to my room now."

"Night B.J.," the rest of the men called as Billy-Jack opened the door.

As quickly as he had opened it, Harry shut the door. He stood pressed up to the door as he heard footsteps. Apparently Billy-Jack was leaving. When it appeared that the coast was clear, Harry moved about the room, to the desk, where John Rowe sat with pen and paper in hand.

"Did you get all that John?" Harry quizzed.

"I think so. Something about a cabin and a woman named Delilah. They mentioned secret activities. Do you think these guys are involved in these murders?"

"It seems that way John. We'll have to follow them tomorrow when they leave. Did you get the time?"

"They're supposed to leave at noon I think," John Rowe informed.

"Okay, tomorrow at noon then," Harry stated confidently as the two men grabbed their coats and headed out the door. "It's late, but let's see if the bar's still open shall we?"

"Sound like a good idea," John Rowe acknowledged, as the two men entered the elevator.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 – Chasing Twilight**

The next day was starting off slow, as Harry Vincent sat eating his complimentary continental breakfast in his room. As he finished his bacon and eggs, he heard much commotion outside, as the group of mysterious men who had checked in the night before were preparing to leave.

"Alright everyone, let's go," a voice boomed from right outside Harry's door.

Harry gave a quick glance at the clock on the wall. It was only 11:45 am. He waited until it sounded quiet enough to peek out, then opened the door and stepped out into the hall. He couldn't believe it. The men he had been so carefully pursuing were gone. He quickly dashed back into his room, only to grab his overcoat. He locked the door to his room and made a mad dash for the elevator.

Upon arriving on the first floor, he stepped into the lobby and saw Billy-Jack exiting the motel lobby. Waiting until he was gone, Harry went to the front desk and signed out, assuring the overly friendly motel clerk that he would return soon. He stepped outside noticing two black cars pulling away from the motel.

Suddenly, pulling up to the curb was a green Packard sedan. Recognizing the driver as John Rowe, Harry quickly entered the car just before John Rowe hit the gas, causing the car to speed away in hot pursuit. The chase was on, as the Packard followed the black cars out of the vicinity of the Happy Inn motel, onto a remote access road.

"Nice of you to join the party," John exclaimed.

"Yeah so I was a little cautious. You can't be too careful. I didn't want them to get suspicious of us. Don't drive too close," Harry countered, as they leisurely stalked the cars ahead.

"I got it, don't worry," John Rowe countered, getting a bit testy.

As the Packard trailed down a long, winding country road, it stalled suddenly, as the pair of cars carrying the suspicious quarry weren't far ahead. Veering left onto a side road that resembled a long driveway, the two black cars soon vanished from sight. The Packard remained stationary, sitting somewhat behind the side access that the other cars had just taken. Then, like a bat out of hell, the Packard came to life once more, veering, shooting across to the side road.

Once the car gained speed, it continued pursuit until finally, the pair of black cars suddenly came into view. They were parked at the end of the road, which from the looks of it was a cul-de-sac. The men they had been tailing were gone. Whoever these men were, it was clear that they were up to something.

Once again halting the Packard far behind the other cars, the two men sat deliberating. Suddenly a gasp escaped John Rowe's lips. "That's their cars, but where do you think they've gone?"

"I don't know but look over there," Harry uttered, matching the astonishment of his accomplice then pointing out the passenger side window, to a large cabin, just beyond a hill to the right of the road. "Well that must be the place."

"The cabin they had talked about! So what do we do now?" John Rowe questioned enthusiastically.

"Well we could explore the grounds, or we could go back to the motel and wait."

"We've done enough waiting," John Rowe uttered in frustration at his partner. "We should look around and report our findings to the Shadow."

"That sounds good John. Alright, we'll split up," Harry offered, checking his pocket watch. "We'll meet back here at the car in one half hour, and figure out what to do from there."

"Agreed," John Rowe exclaimed, briefly eyeing his own timepiece.

With discussion ended, Harry sauntered up the road, trying his best to stay undetected. John Rowe watched as his colleague disappeared up the hill. Thinking quickly, he reached under the front seat of the old Packard and pulled out a hefty revolver. He rapidly exited the car, and then making sure his mediocre automobile was locked, started in the opposite direction of Harry, straying left of the road into a clearing surrounded by some bare, uninviting backwoods.

* * *

A short hike from the base of the hill found Harry staring in awe at a monolithic, yet decrepit structure. He stood before the cabin that the suspicious group that he was following had talked about. It was a massive, single story edifice, made completely of old logs that were reinforced by cinder blocks and cement. Had it been of any greater quality, the building might even be called a manor. There were no windows, only four extensive, solid walls that seemed to go on as far as the eye could see. The front of the cabin boasted a wide front porch with a shabby staircase, made from a weird amalgamation of wood and concrete, which lead directly to the structure's only door.

He hadn't noticed it from the road, but Harry spotted something far behind the structure. A drab iron fence, the kind only synonymous with ghost stories and haunted houses, lined the remainder of the grungy property behind the huge cabin.

Harry stood, unsure of what to do next. It wasn't as if he could just walk into the cabin and take charge, but he had to try something. He suddenly approached the staircase and ascended to the porch. Hearing noise coming from inside, he silently put his ear to the door, only to hear the familiar voice of the old man, Billy-Jack.

"Well Mistress Delilah, how long? How long until our army can wreak havoc on the town?"

Suddenly at Billy-Jack's bizarre question, Harry heard a wickedly shrill, horrific voice respond from somewhere inside the cabin.

"Patience Billy-Jack, this is not a game. Our army is almost complete, but we must continue to build it slowly, if we are to succeed. Tonight you will do more hunting. You and three of your best men will find more people. Bring whatever you find here, dispose of them and prepare them for the ritual of _The Twilight's Kiss_. They will then pledge their allegiance to _The Order of Twilight_ and then will forever be my willing slave."

"Yes Mistress, I will do as you command."

"Oh and Billy-Jack, remember real people this time. No more grave robbing. They must have life if the ritual is to work."

"Understood Mistress. I -."

Before Billy-Jack could finish his sentence, a loud noise was heard at the front door, alerting nearly everyone to Harry's presence.

"An intruder! Guards we have a visitor. Take care of 'em," the apparent master of the house, Mistress Delilah ordered.

Harry was caught. His only choice was to run. He took a step, preparing to flee, but a large gray wolf with beady yellow eyes and grimy fur appeared from behind the cabin, obstructing his path to freedom. Harry dove from the porch steps and ran for his life, past the monstrous gray beast, sprinting with impressive speed down the astoundingly steep hill. As the wolf began to give chase, a random goon stepped outside the cabin and swiftly aimed a hunting rifle. With a near perfect shot, he pulled the trigger.

Instantly, Harry fell to the ground. The goon had shot him in the leg. As the wolf approached, Harry cowered both in fear of the wolf and the pain from his newly received wound. The wolf's fangs shown with great intensity as the animal got ever closer to Harry. Then suddenly, with a swift jump, the beast lunged toward Harry.

All may have been lost, had it not been for a second gunshot. But this time it wasn't Harry who had been shot. The wolf fell in mid-air, landing harshly on the ground. Harry glanced behind him, only to see John Rowe standing at the base of the hill with revolver in hand. The wolf stumbled, trying to get back on its feet. It glanced at Harry, giving a disgruntled growl, then staggered, falling to the ground. The beast was dieing. One shot to the head had finished it off.

John Rowe helped Harry return to his feet, and the pair shuffled eagerly back to the Packard, still parked remotely, somewhere in front of the hill.

* * *

Later, in Harry's room at the Happy Inn, Harry was listening to John Rowe's explanation of what he saw in the woods near the cabin.

"And God was it horrible! I did well though Harry. I watched you go up the hill and thought you might be in trouble, so I grabbed my gun and I saw a clearing in the woods and so I go in the clearing a ways and come across a naked man with a headdress on, like one of those aborigine fellows and he's chanting something real weird like. I heard something about the Order of Twilight. And -."

"Hold it John, The Order of Twilight? I heard the one they call Delilah mention something about that. I think that is what they call themselves," Harry informed.

"Yeah, it sounds like some weird religion. Like a cult or something," John Rowe offered.

"Maybe I better go make a phone call, what do you think John?"

"Oh yeah, I get ya'. Good idea. I'll be in the bar," John Rowe declared as he grabbed his overcoat from the back of the door and the pair exited Harry's room en route to the elevator.

As they boarded the elevator, they noticed some of the men from Room Sixteen exiting their room to enter the motel's upstairs restroom. Upon arriving at the first floor, John Rowe gave a hand gesture to Harry to acknowledge that he was going to the bar.

"Right be on the lookout," Harry told his partner. "I'll join you in a moment." Without wasting time, Harry went to the lobby of the motel to ask about using a telephone.

"Excuse me Miss," Harry recognized the clerk at the front desk. "Would it be too much trouble for me to use a telephone?"

"Why not at all, Mr.?" the clerk couldn't remember Harry's name.

"Vincent. Harry Vincent, agent of the Shadow," Harry felt like saying to the clerk. He felt like telling her the real reason he was here, on assignment. He wanted to tell her how he and his new agent friend had just cracked the case of these mysterious murders that had been plaguing Torrenceville, North Carolina. He wanted to tell her how a weird religious cult, led by a madwoman was killing people left and right for some weird reason or another. But instead all he could muster at this point was, " Oh I'm Harry Vincent."

"Ah yes, Mr. Vincent. Its in the hallway just before the bar."

"Thank you very much madam," Harry expressed brief gratitude before heading to the hallway."

He picked up the receiver, and without thinking twice, he dialed a number that was listed in no telephone directory anywhere in the world. He was summoning his fellow agent, as well as chief contact man for the Shadow, Burbank.

The line rang only once, followed by the frail voice of a middle-aged man on the other end.

"Good evening, this is Burbank!"

"Burbank, it's Harry. I need to report."

Without reply, the line went dead, just before returning to life with three clicks, then a single ring. Harry knew that he had gained access to that most clandestine residence of the Shadow, his Secret Sanctum!

"Report, tell me all," hissed a voice suddenly, from the other end of the phone line.

And as he had done many times before, Harry Vincent began to lower his voice and report everything that had happened since his arrival in Torrenceville.

"Well Boss, I arrived here and met John Rowe your agent from Charlotte. Some strange men showed up and we tailed them to a remote cabin in the middle of nowhere. There seems to be a cult that is responsible for the murders. They reside at the cabin and some live here at the motel. It's all part of a greater umbrella run by one called Delilah and the name of the cult appears to be The Order of the Twilight or something like that."

"Good job agent. I may show up there myself. In the meantime, Agent Margo Lane and her friend Lamont Cranston are going there for a vacation. They arrive tomorrow. You and Agent Rowe must wait for further instructions. When Margo Lane shows up, she will provide you with them," the mysterious voice of the Shadow informed.

"Thanks Boss. Harry Vincent out," Harry acknowledged, hanging up the phone.

Harry felt much more at ease now that he had reported to the Shadow. He felt safe knowing that the Shadow was on his side. Now all that remained to do was wait for Margo Lane to arrive with further instructions. In the meantime, a trip to the bar couldn't hurt.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 – The Arrival**

The following evening was an extremely cool night. In fact, this promised to be one of the coolest nights Torrenceville had ever seen. Darkness was beginning to fall, as a hulking black Buick trudged slowly up to the curb in front of The Happy Inn. As the car stopped, out stepped the driver, a tall lanky African-American man with a mild limp. As quickly as possible, he hobbled to the other side of his vehicle and let out a man and woman.

"There you is Sir," he uttered to a tall, built man in a brown fedora. "And you Miss. I'll get your bags," he promised as he helped a stunning, sandy-blonde woman exit the car. "Hey, I'm sorry Sir, but I forgot your name," the scatterbrained gentleman replied, retrieving his client's bags.

"Oh that's fine my good man," replied the gentleman with the fedora. "I am Lamont Cranston, and this is my friend, Margo Lane. We're here on vacation."

"Oh very good Sir, you and the lady be sure to enjoy your stay," the man offered as he finished unloading Margo Lane's bags. With that he was off to check their luggage at the front desk.

As they briefly stood beside the old Buick, Margo Lane gave Lamont Cranston a very weird stare. They hadn't been in Torrenceville very long, and already she was getting nervous. Cranston felt it too. If for any moment, the people at the motel knew what they were really doing here, investigating mysterious murders, then they would surely not be as friendly.

Cranston and Margo headed inside the place and gave their names separately, as to not attract any attention.

As Cranston and Margo approached the front desk, he heard one of the motel clerks say to another, "Ah, more Yanks. Why not show 'em a room."

With that, the middle-aged woman that first checked Harry Vincent in was assisting Cranston. "Welcome to the Happy Inn, may I have your name?"

"I am Lamont Cranston, uh I'm here on vacation."

"Oh yes, you called yesterday. We've set you up in Room Twelve. And you are?" the clerk asked, staring at Margo.

"Margo Lane, a friend of old Cranston's here," she pronounced with a slight giggle.

"Okay, you'll be set in Room Eight."

"Thank you," Margo offered, but before she knew it, the clerk had left the front desk. She looked around for Cranston and then suddenly she saw him. He was headed toward the bar. _He'll be fine there for a couple of hours, while I unpack_, she thought to herself. Without warning to Cranston or anyone else, she trailed off to Room Eight and began unloading.

* * *

Moments passed, as Cranston had met up with Harry Vincent and his partner for this mission, John Rowe. They were all seated at the bar, having drinks and making conversation.

"Gee Lamont it sure is good that you're here. This is a friend I met here while on vacation. Lamont meet John Rowe from the larger city of Charlotte," Harry introduced.

"It's good to meet you Mr. Cranston," John Rowe suggested politely.

"Likewise Mr. Rowe. I get the strangest feeling that I've met you somewhere before. Oh it's probably just a shadow's intuition."

"What's that Lamont?" Harry questioned.

"Oh nothing Harry. Just small talk."

"Say Lamont, I hope you don't mind if I steal Margo away from you later. I've got some business to discuss with her."

"Oh? What business might this be Harry?" Cranston quizzed, knowing full well why Harry needed to talk to Margo. She was to give him instructions from the Shadow as soon as possible.

"Oh nothing Lamont, just small talk. Say, where is the old gal anyway."

Abruptly a voice boomed from across the room. "This old gal is right here. Harry Vincent I'm surprised at you."

"Margo, it's good to see you," Harry smiled. "John Rowe meet Margo Lane."

"How do you do Sir?" Margo smiled at the attractive man seated beside Harry.

"Yes, how do you do?" John Rowe uttered with a smile.

"Listen Margo, I wanted to talk to you about something. Could we go up to my room for a few moments?"

"Sure Harry, but what's this about?"

"I'll tell you when we get there. Just c'mon," Harry sounded impatient.

"Alright, let's go," Margo said, putting her arm into Harry's.

All of a sudden, the two walked arm in arm to the elevator, en route to Harry's room for some clandestine information swapping. The truth was that all four of them, John Rowe included, knew what Harry and Margo were going to talk about. Still for whatever reason, The Shadow had chosen to not disclose his alter ego as Lamont Cranston to either Harry or John Rowe.

"If you'll excuse me John," Cranston said, as he watched Harry and Margo disappear into the motel's elevator. "I think I'm going to retire to my room for the night and unpack. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Of course Lamont, I'll be seeing you."

John Rowe knew that even if Cranston was going to his room for the night, his own night was just beginning. At any moment now, Harry would return from his room with news from the Shadow. Harry had made John aware, the night before, of the fact that Margo was really an agent of the Shadow. Somehow he felt that with the arrival of Margo Lane and Cranston to the sleepy little town of Torrenceville that the Shadow was about to make an appearance.

* * *

Minutes later, Cranston was in his room unpacking. He had turned on the radio and was tuned in to some local news station. Cranston sat on his bed, listening intently:

_In local news, the police thought it was over. With no reports of anyone missing in nearly two weeks, they thought the mysterious murderer was finished. Six new deaths have happened since yesterday. The police have still not made any connection. What is this little town coming to? We have… Excuse me folks, this just in. We have reports of a disturbance of some kind at Homely Construction Site. Police are on their way there now_…

Cranston turned off the radio. He thought for a moment. There was no reason to involve the Shadow's agents on this. It didn't sound serious, but Cranston's curiosity was running wild. He knew what he had to do. He had to respond to this disturbance at the construction site, even if it was completely unrelated to the case of these mass murders.

* * *

The moonlight was dim in Torrenceville, as a lone black figure intruded slowly on Torrenceville's Homely Construction Site. As the figure stepped out of the darkness, a quick splash of moonlight revealed The Shadow. There were four large men, apparently working on something. It was strange that these men chose the long abandoned Homely Construction Site to carry out whatever they were doing. The mere fact that they were using the cover of night made the Shadow suspicious.

The Shadow moved closer to the center of the site. It wasn't easy to frighten the Master of Darkness, but what he saw at that moment was truly shocking. He stood in awe at the four men, who were dismembering human corpses. The bodies were long dead and for whatever reason, they resembled failed medical experiments.

Suddenly, cold, hollow laughter sounded all around the men. Each froze at the noise.

"What's that?" one of the burly men spoke.

"There back from the dead," another spoke. "These bodies. Their ghosts have come to finish us off."

"Quiet, quiet. Your imagination is runnin' away with ya' man. No it's somethin' else."

"Ha ha ha ha ha. It is something else gentlemen," the Shadow spoke.

"Where the hell are you? Come out," one of them ordered.

"I'm right here gentlemen. I will you not to see me. And yet you hear my voice."

"Who are you?" another asked.

"I go by many names. But men like you know me as the Shadow."

"How did you know where to find us? Oh God, Delilah's gonna have our heads."

"I heard of this disturbance on the radio news. As we speak, the police are on their way. You will all be put away for a very long time."

"He is lying boys. This place is haunted. Let's get out of here."

"You're not going anywhere. As I suspected, you do work for the one called Delilah. Tell me of her plan," the Shadow demanded.

"Never," one of the men persisted. "Let's go," one of the men declared.

With that, all of the burly men began to run out of the site. Abruptly, a burst of wind overcame each man, as the Shadow punched each left and right. With each attack from the Shadow, every man danced violently across the dirty construction area, until finally they all fell simultaneously on top of each other in a pile.

"Now gentlemen, you will cooperate. Tell me of Delilah. Look into my girasol and tell me all," the Shadow commanded, waving his fiery opal ring, from his left hand, in front of the men.

"Yes, I will tell you all," one of the men agreed, standing up from the pile of thugs. "Delilah is our leader. We are part of her army. She plans to reanimate enough corpses to build an army and take over the town."

"Reanimate?" the Shadow marveled, not believing his ears. "That's impossible you fool. No one can bring life back from the dead."

"She has a secret. It has worked before. We are part of her undead army."

"You delusional twit… You're lying."

"No, we were dead," the man shouted defensively.

Suddenly, blue and red lights flashed from across the way. The Shadow glanced, seeing approaching police cars. The Shadow had to get out of there. He couldn't risk being caught by police. He quickly took cover behind some beams. Returning to the darkness, he had once again vanished into the dusk.

Three police cars quickly parked near the edge of the construction site. Policemen charged out of their cars, into the site, seeing some of the bodies and the men, rounded up by the Shadow.

"Stop, you're under arrest," one of the cops declared.

Swiftly and easily, the three policemen rounded up the four men, who seemed to be affected by a weird hypnosis. They barely even struggled, for they were still under the trance of the Shadow's mysterious ring.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5 – The Shadow Strikes **

The next afternoon, Margo Lane was with Cranston in his room at the motel. They were going over the previous night's events.

"Well Margo, did Harry and Mr. Rowe receive their orders from the Shadow last night?" Cranston wondered.

"Yes they did Lamont, but by the time Harry and I got back to the bar, John Rowe said you had retired early to unpack. They went to the cabin as instructed, but didn't find anything new. Say, did you have a good night Lamont," Margo questioned.

"Margo, what I'm about to tell you may shock you. I left last night, after hearing on the radio about a disturbance at a local construction area. I got there and, well it was terrible, absolutely terrible," Cranston declared with a sigh.

"What is it Lamont, are you alright?" Margo asked with great concern.

"Margo, have you ever heard of reanimation?"

"Reanimation, no. What is it?"

"It means to bring the dead back to life."

"Oh that's ghastly," Margo pronounced in disgust.

"Well, it's also scientifically impossible. Apparently, this Delilah woman from the cabin possesses the power to reanimate. She plans to bring enough people back to life, then take over the town."

"She's mad Lamont. Mad…"

"I know Margo. She apparently has henchmen all over town. This Billy-Jack person and others need to be watched carefully."

"Sure Lamont, but what did you see last night?"

"Bodies. Dozens of bodies piled up at the site, failed attempts at reanimation. They were being dismembered by four of Delilah's cronies. The Shadow got what he needed out of them. The police came and hauled them away."

"Yes Lamont but…" Margo's voice trailed off, as a knock was heard at Cranston's door.

Cranston rose from a desk chair and went to the door. Upon opening it, Harry Vincent and John Rowe walked in.

"Lamont, Margo, the radio just announced that they found those killers. Those people who had been murdering others in the town. The police got them," Harry uttered.

"Boy I sure feel safer being in Torrenceville now," John Rowe spoke up.

"Murders? That's strange Harry, Margo didn't tell me about any murders. I didn't even know about this," Cranston exclaimed, trying to look as confused as possible.

"Let's turn on the radio and give a listen," Harry posed.

Cranston quickly switched on the radio and the four listened keenly:

_Yes friends, today brings good news for Torrenceville. The people of this town no longer have to sleep halfheartedly. The mysterious murders of the past few weeks have been solved. Last night, just after we reported to you that disturbance at the construction site, police picked up four men and discovered the grisly remains of bodies. These four men have a trial date sometime next week. That's right friends, you can all sleep soundly. In other news… _

Cranston turned off the radio. The four of them looked at each other in surprise. As far as they were concerned, this radio broadcast meant nothing. However, for the sake of secrecy, Cranston had to play dumb, appear as if he knew nothing.

"Well that's good then. I had no idea that this was even happening. But now they are solved. That's that," Cranston said with satisfaction.

"Well just as you say Lamont, that's that. John and I have a day of game hunting planned. We best be off John," Harry suggested, looking at John.

"Why Harry," Margo spoke up. "I never knew you to be a sporting man."

"Too true, Margo. But truth be told, I always have loved to try new things. Come along John."

"Right Harry," John Rowe followed.

As the two men left Cranston's room, Margo moved to secure the door. She looked intently at Cranston, for she could see that he was forming a plan.

"What is it Lamont, you look troubled."

"Margo, we've got to make them pay. It happens tonight. Get Harry and Mr. Rowe. Here's what I want the three of you to do…"

* * *

That night, a weird form floated through the sky, in perfect horizontal motion; beyond pine clad hills, over the grounds of the mysterious cabin. As it touched down on a hill, not far behind the large, creepy cottage, the object was revealed as a plane, more specifically an autogyro. From out of the peculiar aircraft's cockpit came a terrible figure in black garb. It was the Shadow.

Moving gracefully in the direction of the eerie cabin, the weird avenger of evil blended seamlessly with the darkness. Soon, a silhouette unlike any ever seen raced across the structure's exterior. Instantly the Shadow appeared, briefly pausing to position his ear to the entrance of the place.

Suddenly, the Shadow heard wicked, haunting laughter, followed by footsteps on the other side of the door. Someone was approaching. He moved off of the porch, and hastily disappeared somewhere behind the cabin. Instantly, the cabin's entrance flew open as if effortless.

From out of the cabin stepped Billy-Jack. The fiendish, old man stood at the doorway, looking around to see if he could find any evidence of intrusion. Hearing something strange at the rear of the massive log structure, he moved across the makeshift porch to vanish behind the cabin.

The rear of the cabin gave way to endless grassy, earthy hills. A small power generator rested up against the back of the cabin. Billy-Jack moved beyond the generator to a pile of six bodies, presumably of the people that had been declared murdered on the radio broadcast the night before.

With no visible disturbances, the old, fiendish man started to return to the front of the cabin. Suddenly, from out of nowhere came a furious, blind rush of violence, as the Shadow began making fast work of Billy-Jack. He threw the old man up against the cabin's wooded structure, pinning him, his feet dangling sporadically.

"You scum," the Shadow uttered. "You'll pay for bringing hell to this little town."

"You don't scare me, you fool," the old man proclaimed.

"No? Well then, we'll just have to do something about that," the Master of Darkness promised, throwing Billy-Jack into the heavily wooded area, behind the cabin. Watching ever so closely, the Shadow waited for the man to return to his feet. It appeared that he was out cold.

Wasting no time, the Shadow returned to the front of the cabin. Quickly moving in front of the cabin door, he gave a swift, harsh kick. The door flew open. There, standing in the doorway, the Shadow witnessed the old lady known as Delilah, seated in the lotus position on the floor, in the center of the huge, empty, one room cabin. The impious woman appeared frail, in a discolored ceremonial robe, with a shriveled face, large nose and grimy, grayish hair.

"So you are the one called Delilah," the Shadow posed.

"Yes and you will soon be dead, intruder," the ugly old woman assured, pulling a large pistol from her dingy robe.

"Ha ha ha ha ha. What are you going to do with that, woman?" the Shadow taunted.

Without hesitation, Delilah pulled the trigger. At the sound of the shot, the Master of Darkness faded into nothingness. Delilah couldn't believe her eyes. At the doorway where the Shadow had stood, nothing remained.

"Where… where'd you go?" Delilah cackled.

"I am all around you woman, everywhere around you," the Shadow declared.

"That's a delightful disappearing act you do Mister?"

"To some I am the voice of reason, but to others like you, the voice of justice. I am the Shadow."

"You're a fool is what you are! You'll never be able to stop The Order of Twilight. This is bigger than the both of us."

"You are responsible for the deaths of dozens of people," the Shadow announced, suddenly appearing in a dark corner.

"Death, ha ha ha," Delilah cackled. "The people I have killed have been granted immortality. They were given the Twilight's Kiss," she said with conviction, staring at the menacing stature in the corner.

"The Twilight's Kiss is nothing more than a relic of ancient eastern tradition. There is no truth to it. Those dozens of bodies that were uncovered at the construction site can vouch for that. You're mad Delilah," the Shadow condemned.

"Mad, Mr. Shadow? You have forgotten one thing. This is the Order of Twilight. My undead army will attack," she promised.

"Maybe you'd better call your reinforcements, murderer. I am getting bored."

"As you wish," Delilah agreed.

Suddenly, the scary old woman clapped her hands. An aggressive tremor overcame the cabin. The Shadow moved with great speed to the entrance. As he crossed the cabin's threshold, exiting, he noticed a crowd of people trudging up the hill. Moving to solid ground, directly in front of the cabin, he drew his trusty .45 automatics.

Even in the dimness of night, it was evident that these burly cutthroats were armed to the teeth with guns, knives and just about anything they could get their hands on. Surely they were not the undead army that Delilah spoke of. Barely fifty feet distanced the Shadow from the mob, as he rapidly gripped his pistols and opened fire. Shots roared into the teeth of the oncoming attackers, even before they had a chance to fire. As he took them out, one by one, it seemed that the mob of assailants was never-ending.

Without warning, a painful jolt struck the back of the Shadow's neck, causing him to lose all balance and drop to the ground. From behind stood Billy-Jack, gripping a large lead pipe. Realizing that his quarry lay unconscious, he threw the pipe to the ground, and proceeded to drag the Shadow by his feet, disappearing behind the cabin. The mob of armed goons continued roving up the hill, towards their master's cabin, as if endless.

* * *

Not a moment later, a green Packard sedan rolled up to the bottom of the hill. As soon as the car stalled, three figures exited and began climbing the hill. They were the Shadow's agents; with Harry Vincent leading the pack, John Rowe following secondly and Margo Lane trailing not so far behind. They stopped at the middle of the hill's massive slope to briefly convene, and then separating just as quickly, they each moved in conflicting directions.

Harry headed up the center of the hill, coming into direct contact with Billy-Jack, who was at the center of the crazed mob.

"Well now, the boy from the motel. Whaddya' say sonny? I thought you might be connected to that weird fella' in black," Billy-Jack acknowledged Harry.

"It's over old man," Harry promised.

"Maybe for you," Billy-Jack countered, taking a swing towards Harry.

"You move pretty fast geezer," Harry uttered, dodging out of the way.

"You fool, you can't win. You're outnumbered and outgunned," Billy-Jack threatened, as a horde of seemingly mindless individuals crowded around Harry.

Harry was trapped. These fanatical people had encircled him. Quickly, he searched for an escape route, none. They were moving in, closer and closer. He did the only thing he could think of, and dove towards Billy-Jack, knocking him out of the swarming circle and freeing himself, briefly, from the imposing mob.

Meanwhile, John Rowe was having difficulty of his own. He had gotten entangled with some of the crazed mob. Growing increasingly anxious, he pulled out his heavy revolver and was shooting everything in site. The problem was this mob of people was so large, that he feared he didn't have enough ammunition to finish them all off. He moved with great precision, from person to person, shooting each one, but the task seemed never-ending. It was clear to John Rowe that whatever fiendish power was being held over these folks, that it was strong and unwavering.

Margo Lane had moved around the side of the cabin and was trying her best to go undetected. As she made her way to the back of the cabin, she was stopped in her tracks at the macabre site of the dead bodies. But there, just beyond the bodies was The Shadow. He was propped up, in a seated position, against the cabin's exterior. She quickly ran to his aid and realized that he was unconscious.

"Oh Lamont," she whispered to herself in concern.

She reached down and tried coaxing him awake by shaking him, then lightly striking his masked face. Without fail, the Master of Darkness stirred briefly. Realizing where he was, he quickly stood upright.

"Margo, thank you. Vincent and Rowe?"

"They're out front. Are you alright?"

"I'll be fine. Take Rowe's car. Get to a phone, and call the police."

"Right," she agreed, then hurried off, out of sight.

The Shadow took a moment to compose himself, observing that his trusty automatics were missing. He would have to temporarily do without however, for there was no time to lose. With great confidence, he sprang to the front of the cabin. The scene out front was a desperate one. Harry and John Rowe were fighting armed men with bare fists and a lot of luck. They had finished off most of the gunmen and were now taking on dangerous knife wielders and crazed, paranoid muggers.

The Shadow slipped by unnoticed, maneuvering his way back into the cabin. Once inside, he caught Delilah by surprise.

"I have come for you Delilah. You're finished," the Shadow pledged, hiding behind a cloak of invisibility.

"Ah, so you're back. Where are you? Show yourself."

With that, a faint outline appeared all around the room. The evil old woman fired a shot from her revolver, then another, then another.

"You're too late Shadow. The people outside are just members of the Order. The real chaos is happening in the town. They are the one's I have brainwashed. They are the one's taking over the town, so that the Order will rule Torrenceville. It's happening as we speak. I have entered their thoughts. They will have no choice but to surrender to the Order of the Twilight."

"Ha ha ha ha ha… Crime Does Not Pay. You're scheme will never work, for I am entering the mind's of those poor people. I will set them straight."

"No, no," Delilah screamed, firing another shot at a blank silhouette on the far wall.

"Yes, yes. You are through."

Suddenly, something odd happened. The sinister old Delilah began laughing hysterically. She had suddenly been overtaken by her own madness.

"Well, I've got one shot left. I will save it for myself," she said in a final declaration, placing the revolver to her mouth and pulling the trigger.

As soon as the gun went off, The Shadow exited the cabin. The scene outside had improved greatly, because Harry and John Rowe had obviously finished fighting off the demented crowd. The agents were nowhere to be found. The bodies of Delilah's cronies had been scattered in grisly fashion all over the hill. The Shadow noticed Billy-Jack lying face down, not far from the front of the cabin. In the old man's hands were the Shadow's trademark weapons: two .45 automatic pistols. He quickly raced over to the corpse of the old man to retrieve his guns. As police cars began to arrive at the bottom of the hill, the Shadow quickly dematerialized into nothingness.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 – The End**

The next morning in the bar of the Happy Inn motel, Lamont Cranston, Margo Lane and Harry Vincent were all sitting around finishing breakfast and chatting.

"Yes, yes that's right Margo. The radio reported zombie-like creatures and dead bodies. All poppycock of course," Cranston declared, flashing a smile to Margo Lane.

"I don't know Lamont. Just yesterday the radio said that they had apprehended the killers. Are you sure it's over?" Margo Lane quizzed.

"Oh Margo, now don't be getting Lamont all scared and worried with stupid little ghost stories. He's on vacation," Harry cautioned.

"Scared? Why Harry, when we get back to New York, I'll show you who is scared," Lamont threatened jokingly.

Suddenly, John Rowe walked into the bar, giving a loud yell. "Harry, Miss Lane, Mr. Cranston… I'm all checked out and my bags are packed. I just wanted to come and say goodbye before heading back to the big city."

"Well I'm sure you'll be glad to get back to the norm," Cranston assured.

"I don't know Mr. Cranston, it has been kind of nice getting away from the big city. I'll have to do this more often," John Rowe uttered.

"Come back here, to Torrenceville," Harry asked.

"Well now, I don't know about here. I mean I've seen this place and once was enough. All this talk of murder and the macabre just really isn't why I go vacationing. We get enough of that in the big city."

"I know what you mean John," Margo chimed in. "At any rate it was wonderful to meet you. I have a feeling we may meet again in the future."

"Miss Lane, there's not a shadow of a doubt," John Rowe declared with a laugh. "Say, I better get going. My cab is probably waiting."

"Yes, I'll see you out old boy," Harry offered, putting his arm on John Rowe's shoulder.

"It was nice to meet you all. Take care Mr. Cranston, Miss Lane."

"You too John, bye now," Margo greeted.

"Have a nice trip Mr. Rowe," Cranston offered.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," Harry called out to Lamont and Margo.

With that Harry and John Rowe left the bar. They didn't need to hear details concerning the mission. To them, it was just work. But Margo Lane was a different story. She always knew that after a mission, she and Lamont Cranston would sit around and gossip long enough for Cranston to give the details on how the Shadow cracked the case. Usually with missions like this, there were always clandestine tidbits of information that the Shadow somehow knew, leaving his agents in the dark.

Margo had to know. Just what did the Shadow know about a case as mysterious as this one?

"Alright Lamont, there gone. Fill me in."

"There's nothing to tell Margo," Cranston declared.

"C'mon Lamont, I have to know. How did the Shadow do it?"

"Margo, that woman at the cabin, Delilah. She was positively insane. Claiming you can bring people back from the dead, it's proposterous. Her plan was to turn the entire town against itself, using something known in the eastern world as The Twilight's Kiss."

"The Twilight's Kiss, what's that?"

"It's a ritual that ancient mystics supposedly used to build armies for warlords and dictators, who were drunk with power. When I studied in the Orient, I learned the ritual and was taught that it was a fraud. It is a fraud, it doesn't work."

"So if it only exists as an ancient ritual, how did this Delilah know about it," Margo wondered.

"My guess is that this woman was a senile gypsy who learned of the ritual in her travels. She probably thought that a small, unsuspecting town in the southern United States would be the perfect target for her foolish scheme," Cranston guessed.

"Wow a gypsy. But didn't you tell me before that she had brainwashed the town?"

"Yes Margo. Her psychic abilities were very advanced. She did brainwash the town, as well as her so-called army. But those people on the hill, they were already crazy enough to fall for Delilah's plan. Had we waited much longer, the townspeople would have torn the town apart, reducing it to nothing, leaving Delilah and her strange cult, free to take over."

"So the murders were by accident," Margo inquired.

"Actually yes, in Delilah's sick mind, she believed that she really could revive the dead. When she failed the first time, she decided to keep trying. As the bodies started piling up, she became frustrated. She wanted so badly to have an undead army, that she brainwashed her cult into believing they were the undead. I think as time went on, she started to believe it herself. Had she not taken her own life, she would have been an interesting psychological case study."

"Oh Lamont, that's horrible," Margo scolded. "The poor woman was a victim of her own twisted mind,"

"Yes Margo, but had she survived she would have been placed in a hospital. She was too unfit for prison."

"Well like always, the Shadow made sure that justice was found," Margo declared.

"He did at that Margo, he did at that," Cranston agreed.

Suddenly Harry Vincent appeared, entering the bar at a brisk pace.

"Hey guys," Harry called as he entered the bar. "That's it for John. I better go get packed, if I'm to get back to New York by tonight."

"You're leaving today Harry? I thought you'd be staying for the rest of the week," Margo said in surprise.

"No Margo, he's got to get back to the city for whatever it is he does to occupy his time."

"Well we can't all be playboys Lamont. C'mon, you guys know what I do. I'm a salesman for hire," Harry reminded.

"Oh yes, that's right," Cranston remembered. Truthfully though, Cranston knew that the Shadow had appointed Harry a salesman, and that he didn't really have to work for a living. He was an agent of the Shadow, and all agents of the Shadow were of course financially set for life.

"Well, Lamont and I are going to be here for a few more days, then we'll return," Margo informed.

"Well you guys have fun. I'm off to my room to pack. I'll be down later to give my farewells," Harry promised, leaving the bar hurriedly.

Cranston and Margo had planned to stay a few days extra, so Lamont could regroup and take a break. He was in great need of a break from the city, and for now at least, from the Shadow.

THE END


End file.
